Dudley Dursley and the Philosopher's Stone
by Michael Dempsey
Summary: This is the Hogwarts you DIDN'T read about!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Dudley, Harry or any other characters, settings, names etc from the Harry Potter series.

**Prologue**

Harry Potter stared at his bedroom wall. These days it was all he could do to entertain himself. Luckily for him, his room had only just been re-decorated, and some of the paint was still wet. He enjoyed watching it dry. It was a lovely, plain white. Not just any white however; but a shining, wet, dripping white. Across this wall, wherever he directed his eyes, he saw wet, white paint.

It was quite surprising that he was able to see so clearly, especially since his glasses had been taken from him.

_Why _didn't he stop Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia disguising Dudley as Harry so that he could go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Harry's place? This question haunted him, as did the fact that, as far as Harry knew, Dudley was not a wizard, Muggle-born or otherwise. He was a plain old Muggle. Also, he was fat.

Harry sighed, and continued gazing at his wet, white wall, but it was not long before he fell off his chair, fast asleep.

**Click on 'Next' to proceed to Chapter 1...**


	2. 1 The Letters From No One For Someone

**PLEASE review this story if you read it! Anyway, here's chapter 1. Enjoy.**

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and co belong only to JK Rowling.**

1. _The Letters From No One For Someone_

'Come on, boy! Faster!' Uncle Vernon snarled.

'I'm going!' said Harry irritably. 'What's the rush, anyway?'

The two of them were struggling up the stairs with lots of carrier bags containing Harry's stuff. Barely a minute before this, Harry had been sitting quite happily in his cupboard beneath the stairs, vacuuming the square of carpet and occasionally banging his head against the stairs overhead, when his uncle's large face had squeezed its way through the door and he was told he had to move into a proper bedroom.

'I don't know, but we're rushing anyway!' Uncle Vernon barked, spit flying from his mouth, hitting Harry on the back of his neck and making him uncomfortable. That plus the hardship of carrying five extremely large, heavy bags up a narrow flight of stairs made Harry very frustrated.

'Come _on_!'

'I'm _going_, for f***'s sake!'

Uncle Vernon seized his arm suddenly in a vice-like grip, causing Harry to unbalance, and one of the bags slipped from his fingers. '_What did you just say_?' he hissed.

Harry stared at him, feeling his heart rate quicken.

'I said, "I'm going, for fuck's sake".'

There was a pause. 'Oh, OK. I wasn't sure.'

When they finally arrived at the correct bedroom, Harry opened the door and Uncle Vernon forced him through it, throwing Harry's bags in after him. He was closing the door when Harry said, 'So, tell me again, why do I have to sleep here?'

Uncle Vernon blinked.

'Because, Harry, er, your aunt and I have decided you've been in there too long, and it's time to let Dudley have a turn, I'm sure he's been very jealous of you.'

Harry started. Nothing in that reasoning made any sense. Dudley, he thought, jealous of _me_? For sleeping in a cupboard? Did this perhaps have something to do with the mysterious letter-writer with whom Harry had not yet had a chance to communicate?

'Where's my letter?' he asked.

His uncle smiled mirthlessly. 'I'm afraid the dog has eaten it.'

'Hang on!' Harry yelled, as Uncle Vernon closed the door, 'WE DON'T HAVE A DOG!'

Later...

'NOT _MORE_?'

The bewildered yell from his uncle made Harry jump. He had been sitting on his desk chair, gazing vacantly at the wall over his bed, as he had been doing over the past couple of days, when he had slipped backwards onto the floor in a reverie. He stood up quickly, and straightened his glasses. From what he could hear in the living room, which was the room directly below his bedroom, it sounded as though the Dursleys were shuffling lots and lots of paper. Intrigued, he left his room, went down the stairs and entered the living room.

It was not exactly what he was expecting. White envelopes were shooting out of the fireplace and bouncing off the walls. Uncle Vernon was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs, his face pale with fury as he stared on at nothingness. Aunt Petunia was standing on the sofa, clutching her skirt in one hand and a tea towel in the other, which she was using to bat away the envelopes that kept soaring towards her head. Dudley stood in the middle of the room, jumping, trying to catch one of the envelopes. There were hundreds and hundreds of them. With a rush of excitement Harry realised they must be more of those letters that were addressed to him; someone truly badly wanted to speak to him, so why wait around any longer? He dashed forwards and joined his cousin amidst the swirling, tumbling envelopes.

'Oh, yes, boys, that's right: go try to catch the letters Petunia and I have been trying to keep you from!' Uncle Vernon growled.

'Yeah, OK, Dad!' said Dudley.

Uncle Vernon frowned. 'Er, son, I was being sar -,'

'_I got one_!' Dudley yelled suddenly. Harry stopped jumping and looked at the white envelope with the wax seal in his cousin's hand, and then at his face. It was alarming. Then Dudley spoke a creepy voice.  
'_My precious_…'

'Give that to me!' Harry shouted, and made a grab for it just as Dudley began to open it. 'It's mine!'

'No, it's mine! It's my precious!'

'Excuse me?'

'Excuse me,' said a deep voice none of them recognised. Everyone looked around in surprise as a very old man with a very long white beard and hair to match poked his head in through the window. He was indeed a very strange-looking person. From what the Dursleys and Harry could see of him, he was dressed in violet, and wore a pointed hat of the same colour. Half-moon spectacles sat on a very crooked nose. Harry's immediate impression was of a hippie in fancy-dress.

'My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore. I am the headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The letter in that young man's hands is intended for Harry Potter, and Harry alone. Is that understood?'

An extremely awkward silence ensued. Harry chanced a glance at Uncle Vernon, but Uncle Vernon looked too terrified, too angry, and too confused all at once to say or do anything. He was staring at the stranger as if he had never seen another human being before. Dudley was able to let a tiny 'Meep!' of surprise escape his lips. And Aunt Petunia had fainted.

The man named Dumbledore did not seem at all perturbed by this reaction. On the contrary, he looked totally relaxed, and there was even a small smile playing about his lips. For some reason, Harry liked it, as he did the benign twinkle in the man's blue eyes.

'Am I to take your silence for assent?' he continued pleasantly. 'Only I would hate to be wrong. Or has the cat not yet got your tongue? I ask again: am I understood?'

Slowly, without once blinking, Uncle Vernon moved his lips just enough to be able to say, 'Yes.'

'Yes what?' Dumbledore smiled.

'Yes, _sir_,' Uncle Vernon hissed. Harry suppressed a laugh; his uncle truly detested being ordered around, and what with it being a complete stranger doing the ordering, and in his own house, Uncle Vernon looked nothing short of murderous. He tore his eyes from Dumbledore and looked at Dudley. Still speaking through his teeth, he said, 'Come on, Dudley, hand it over.'

'But, Dad -,'

'_Hand it over_, _Dudley_.'

No one, not even his own son could disobey Vernon Dursley when he spoke in such a deadly whisper. Wordlessly, Dudley offered the letter to Harry, who snatched it out of his hands.

'That will do for now,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'Adieu!' He glanced at Harry, and for one whole moment when their eyes connected, Harry felt something like an invisible beam of understanding pass between them, and Dumbledore winked. Then, he was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared.

'Give me that!'

'Hey!'

In his distraction Harry had let his hand go lax, and Dudley had snatched the letter back. 'Ha-ha, it's mine now! Come and get it!' He was holding it high above Harry's head and Harry, being at least a foot shorter than his cousin (and a foot slimmer, too, incidentally), was not tall enough to reach it.

'That's it! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!' Uncle Vernon leapt to his feet, his large, round face glowing like a giant beetroot, eyes bulging in rage. He had already pulled half of his moustache out for some reason. 'We're getting out of here, we're leaving! Five minutes! Get some things together! No arguments! Dudley, wake your mother up.'


	3. 2 The Snake and the Hut

2. _The Snake and the Hut_

They spent virtually the rest of the day in the car, driving all over the country. Harry was feeling frustrated; he was uncomfortable, and Uncle Vernon appeared to have absolutely no clue as to where they were heading; he'd drive down one very long road, go right to the end of it, before turning the car around and heading all the way back. 'Shake 'em off, shake 'em off,' he would say. Dudley cried the entire time because he had a hole in one of his socks. Aunt Petunia, however, sat complacently in the front seat, leaning against the window, mouth open, drooling on the glass, a dreamy expression on her face. It had been revealed to Harry that Uncle Vernon had administered to her some kind of sedative, so as to prevent her getting worked up. But Harry felt that it was not his aunt who needed sedating; the car was shooting down the motorway as Uncle Vernon drove with white knuckles, leaning forward in his seat, his face as large and red as Jupiter.

Eventually, as the sky turned a deep shade of blue, they rolled to a stop on a road by the coast. Harry and Dudley stared, taken aback by the sudden halt, as Uncle Vernon wordlessly got out of the car. Aunt Petunia, who had fallen asleep, grunted and muttered, 'Where's my cake?' before turning on her other side, and began snoring.

'We won't be staying _here_, surely?' cried Dudley, looking out the windscreen. Harry looked, too. They were parked in front of a low wooden fence, behind which lay the beach that stretched down towards a thick band of dark sea spanning the horizon. Miles out to the left and to the right of the ocean, great black cliffs climbed up into darkness.

'Well, er, we definitely won't be short on sand,' Harry muttered, unable to stop himself. Dudley bitch-slapped him.

Ten minutes later, Uncle Vernon returned, carrying a very thick, long package over one of his shoulders, and a frying pan. 'Good news, folks! There's a little shack out there in the middle of the sea, we can stay there for the night!'

'That's unwise,' said a now-slightly-familiar voice. Harry spun his head to stare out the other window; Albus Dumbledore, for some reason, had appeared out of nowhere in his violet cloak. Uncle Vernon yelped in horror and staggered backwards.

'_Did you follow us_?' he cried, clutching his chest.

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'But I'm leaving now. Farewell!'

Half an hour later, the three Dursleys and Harry clambered awkwardly out of the little wooden boat in which they had travelled over to the rock on which the hut stood. Shivering and drenched in water they slipped and stumbled up a very crooked incline to the door of the shack, which creaked upon opening.

The hut was small, windy and shabby, constructed entirely from wood. It contained one downstairs room and one upstairs room that could be accessed via a spiralling wooden staircase. A cold fireplace stood against the left-hand wall, and a sink sat in the opposite corner. The staircase lay opposite to the door.

Aunt Petunia seemed to have recovered. She glanced around briefly before turning to the boys, and spoke in an unnaturally high voice. 'OK, kids, you'll sleep down here. Dudders, you can have the sofa. Harry… well, wherever. Dad and I are going upstairs,' she added to Dudley. She looked at Uncle Vernon in a way that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. 'I think there's a double bed up there, and I'm in the mood for -,'

Harry and Dudley had crammed their fingers into their ears.

Hours later, Harry was having trouble trying to sleep on the floor. He was still seething over what had happened earlier that day at the zoo. He was _sure_ he had somehow made the glass front of a cage containing a boa constrictor disappear, but Dudley had stolen his glory. 'I did it! It was me!' he'd shouted happily, waddling over to his parents as if were an achievement to be proud of – which, annoyingly, was how it was received; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had treated Dudley to a package holiday to Australia (all expenses paid).

Harry looked at the huge ornate grandfather clock in the corner and realised he had been eleven for a whole second.

'YAY!' he yelled without thinking, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Too late; Dudley had awoken. He sat bolt upright and screamed, 'Where's the cannon?'


	4. 3 Close Encounters of the Fat Kind

**A/N: Hey, sorry for the late update! And thanks to everyone who's reviewed it so far. PLEASE review. We're getting there... Here, we meet, not Dumbledore, but good ol' Hagrid.**

**DISCLAIMER: Again, I own nuthin' out o' Harry Potter, 'cept this story... oh, and I own nuthin' from _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_; just manipulating the title. :P**

3. _Close Encounters of the Fat Kind_

'Oh, there it is!'

He got up and moved over to examine the ancient, rusted canon sitting in a dark corner of the room. Harry frowned, his eyes following his cousin, when there came another loud BANG, at which Dudley spun around stupidly on the spot. 'Where's the other canon?' he yelled.

Harry wordlessly pointed towards the door. Dudley shuffled forwards eagerly, one pudgy hand reaching out for the handle when…

CRASH.

The door was struck with such force that it swung clean free of its hinges into the room, squashing Dudley, and an enormous figure walked in; one so large, in fact, that it had to stoop to prevent banging its head on the ceiling. At the same time, Harry heard the thudding of feet from the floor above, and knew that his aunt and uncle had been roused.

The figure moved forward and Harry craned his neck to look into a large, friendly face with glittering beetle eyes, wreathed in a dark beard and shaggy hair. He was looking down at Harry as if he were about say something, but a muffled groan from beneath his feet made him stop, jump off the fallen door and lift it up so that Dudley could scramble to his feet, moaning and rubbing his head.

'Blimey, Harry!' thundered the stranger, staring at Dudley. 'Look how big yeh are!'

Harry was not sure whether or not to correct the giant; he did not know him, and the only other giant across whom he had ever come was the one in the story of Jack and the beanstalk, and that giant had not been too nice. However, he was spared the trouble by Uncle Vernon, who came clattering down the stairs carrying a thick black something over his shoulder, which Harry recognised a moment later as being a rocket launcher; now he knew what had been in the package.

'You, sir, are breaking and entering!' shouted Uncle Vernon, whose face was white with either anger or utter terror.

He raised the rocket launcher, as if aiming for the giant's head, but the giant merely snarled, 'Oh, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prawn!'

'Prawn?' Harry enquired.

The giant looked around at him, distracted. 'Er, yeah, that's what I'm supposed to say, right? I mean, I only read the book once, but I think it says "prawn"… or it might have been something else…'

Harry frowned, having no idea what the stranger was talking about.

'Anyway,' continued the giant, turning to Dudley again, 'Sorry about the door falling on you, Harry, I didn't expect you to have been standing just behind it…'

'Excuse me,' Harry piped up crossly, 'but he's not Harry; _I_ am!'

'I was sayin',' the giant continued, completely ignoring Harry, 'yeh've gotten so big, Harry! And you look _nuthin'_ like yer parents, and I thought there was a scar on yer forehead -,' his beetle-black eyes flashed over Dudley' round, piggish face, ' – but never mind that. I've come to bring yeh yer letter, Harry.'

And with a hand the size of a dinner plate, the giant rummaged in the pocket of his huge moleskin overcoat, and withdrew from it a yellowing envelope made of thick parchment bearing a scarlet seal of wax, which he handed to Dudley.

'Er -' said Harry loudly, but no one paid him any attention. There were a few minutes spent in silence as Dudley opened the letter and read it through. Harry glanced at his aunt and uncle; Uncle Vernon was leaning over the banister of the stairs, his face etched in utter bewilderment, one hand still keeping the forgotten rocket launcher in place over his shoulder. Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was leaning on the banister like her husband, but she had her chin in her hand and a look of boredom on her face. The giant, on the other hand, was watching Dudley read with a manic gleam in his eyes.

Finally, Dudley looked up, his face taut with fear and confusion, from the letter to the giant's face and stuttered, 'W-what's Hogwarts?'

'It's a school for witches and wizards,' beamed the stranger.

'So that must mean,' Dudley glanced quickly down at the letter again and back up with a gasp, I'm – I'm a _witch_?'

'Yup,' said the stranger happily. 'And I'm Hagrid; Rubeus Hagrid, keeper o' keys and grounds at Hogwarts, where you're going in a month.'

'That's – that's nice,' gasped Dudley, who was still plainly terrified.

The giant named Hagrid nodded, still beaming, then proceeded to lie on the moth-eaten sofa, whose wooden frame they heard shatter as the giant put his weight on it. Hagrid, however, seemed totally oblivious. He had, in fact, immediately fallen asleep; they could hear the rumbling sound of his snores.

Harry, whose heart had been hammering throughout the whole encounter, now felt somewhat numb. He looked around; Dudley was standing stock-still, the letter still clutched in his fat hand, gazing bemusedly at Hagrid, his eyes wide. Beyond him, on the stairs, Uncle Vernon wore an expression identical to his son's; but then Uncle Vernon shrugged, turned around and headed upstairs without a backward glance.

Aunt Petunia yawned and stretched. 'Go back to bed, Diddykins,' she said, as if a giant had not just burst the door down, told her son (whose identity he had mistaken) he would be going to study at a school for people with magical abilities and then slumped flat out on the sofa just a few feet away. She, too, then returned to the bedroom.

Now it was just Harry and Dudley, staring at each other over the vast form of Hagrid, lying like a boulder on the crushed sofa in the middle of the room, his expansive torso rising and falling with the steady, deep rumble of his breathing.

'That letter's mine,' Harry said quietly. He felt tired, confused, but very annoyed.

Dudley seemed to have overcome his shock, now that the giant was safely unconscious, for his face wore the familiar piggish grin Harry hated so much. 'What are you gonna do about it?' he sneered.

'Give it to me.'

'No.'

Anger boiled through his chest; he felt the heat rising in his cheeks, but chose to say nothing. Whilst Harry was small and skinny, he was no match for Dudley Dursley, the meanest kid in the playground. But then Harry was struck by an idea of outsmarting him.

'Look over there!' he yelled, pointing into a random corner of the room. Dudley, taking the bait, spun round to stare in that direction and Harry lunged forward to seize the letter. He missed, and crashed face first onto the rug.


	5. 4 Insert Platform Number Here

**Well, it's been four months since I last updated - I reckon I'm getting pretty good at this!**

**No, seriously, guys, I'm sorry it's taken so long. Thanks for sticking with me, Harry, and Dudley for that matter, so far - I'll update more often in future, as long as you REVIEW, you amazing people!**

**Notes: WH Smith is a very well-known English book/stationary shop.  
'Pavement' is the English version of 'sidewalk'  
'lanky hanky' is a totally made up term, by me.**

4. "_Insert Platform Number Here"_

'But _why_, WHY - ' Harry bellowed, '- is Dudley going, when it's my name on the bloody letter?'

Aunt Petunia paused in the act of cramming Harry's glasses, which she had violently snatched off his face moments before, onto Dudley's. She straightened up and glared down at her nephew, the nostrils on her bony face flaring.

'Because, you stupid little boy-who-lived, this is what happens in the story, and it is the author who wrote it!'

Harry groaned.

'But what about JK?'

It was the morning of the first of September, and the sun had barely risen; the sky outside the kitchen window was a feeble grey-blue, and the birds in the surrounding environment were making such a racket if was as if they had only just learned that they had beaks.

Three days before, Hagrid the giant had strolled up the garden path (flattening a number of begonias on the way) to knock on the front door. Aunt Petunia had answered and immediately fainted - not at the appearance of a giant on her doorstep, but because she'd noticed the flattened begonias. Then, once she had regained consciousness while lying on the living room sofa, a golf ball-sized lump on the back of her head, she had made Hagrid a cup of tea (just the one; Petunia really did like those begonias).

After this, Hagrid had scooped up Dudley without preamble (Dudley letting out a high-pitched squeal of terror), told the boy's parents he was taking him to "diagonally", whatever that meant, in order to purchase his necessaries for school, and left, with Dudley hanging fireman-style over his shoulder.

Six hours later Dudley returned, laden with equipment for magical education; he had bought robes, a cauldron, a broomstick, spellbooks, a wand, and a ten pound gift voucher for WH Smith ('Flourish and Blotts was closed,' Dudley had explained). Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had seized all and crammed it unceremoniously into the cupboard under the stairs, before attempting to do the same with their son. However, the cupboard had become so packed, and Dudley being no lanky hanky, the crash they all heard was made when Dudley's head finally smashed upwards through the stairs.

Now, three days later, Dudley and his school things had been let out of the closet (Dudley constantly massaging his neck and the top of his head) and Uncle Vernon was packing his things into suitcases in the living room. The other three stood in the kitchen, Petunia disguising her son as Harry, for reasons best known only to herself.

Right now, Aunt Petunia looked, if it were possible, even more incensed. 'Joanne Rowling is a widely-acclaimed author who wisely does not associate herself with amateur imitations of her work,' she pouted.

There was a silence.

'Er – what?'

'Oh, forget it,' she snapped, clearly impatient with the eleven year-old's lack of knowledge on the creative industry. 'Now, how does your cousin look?'

Harry looked Dudley up and down. Dudley was wearing one denim jacket, fastened up and tucked into an extremely tight belt that was turning his round face blue even as Harry looked. The belt held up a pair of ludicrously tight, bright red jeans. Onto Dudley's head his mother had forced a black mop wig that looked even worse on Dudley than it would have done on anyone else in the living world. Harry's glasses were stretched across Dudley's huge face and the thick, pink-red lightning scar, which had been realised with lipstick, shone on his forehead in the early sun.

'He looks alright.'

'Wonderful!' Aunt Petunia sang, clapping her hands together. She bustled past them and out of the kitchen, and they heard her calling from the hallway, 'Vernikins, are Diddy's bags packed?'

Two and a half hours later, the taxi pulled in at King's Cross. Harry and Dudley jumped out while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia tried to push all of Dudley's school things out of the car before them. With the help of the driver, and some unfortunate passers-by whom Petunia had harangued, they loaded the trunks onto a trolley and began shuffling into the station.

'Hang on a minute,' said Uncle Vernon gruffly, pausing in his tracks and causing several people behind to swerve out of his way, 'didn't you buy an animal?'

'Yes, I did, but she's not here at the moment,' his son replied brightly.

'Oh. An owl, wasn't it?'

Dudley stared at him. 'Deirdre isn't an owl!'

It was Uncle Vernon's turn to stare. 'Then what was it?'

'Dad, Deirdre's a Thestral!'

'What's a Th –'

'Darling, the train!' said Aunt Petunia promptly. Once they had all entered the place, Uncle Vernon glanced at his watch while reaching into his pocket with his free hand. 'What train're you getting, boy?' he barked, pulling out the ticket.

He stared at it.

'What is it?' inquired his wife.

It took Uncle Vernon a few seconds to reply, his eyes still wide as he gaped at the piece of paper in his hand.

'It says "_Insert platform number here_".'

'What? No, it doesn't!' Dudley piped up crossly, and seized the ticket from his father's hand while Aunt Petunia stared at Uncle Vernon. Dudley glanced at the ticket, but the glance turned into an incredulous stare. Meanwhile Harry, who was starting to feel left out of all the staring, chose to gape at his aunt and uncle.

Presently, the author stared down at the page before him, unsure of how to end this chapter.


	6. 5 Nine and Three Quarters of Triumph

**I'm really really really really really ****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really****really sorry it's taken me FOREVER to update. Please, please forgive me.**

5. _Nine and Three Quarters of Triumph_

'Right, now this is just a guess,' said Dudley, 'but I think the entrance to the platform lies somewhere between these barriers. It's hidden because it's magical,' he added with an educated nod.

'Oh, my clever little Diddykins!' simpered Aunt Petunia. Dudley glowed.

'I think the platform is Nine and Three Quarters,' said Harry, disrupting the touching mother-son moment. Both of them whirled around and stared at him angrily.

'What makes you say that, boy?' Uncle Vernon barked.

'Oh, I don't know,' said Harry sarcastically, 'maybe the fact that it's written here, _on the ticket_.' He showed it to them; beneath the printed words _Insert Platform Number Here_ someone had scribbled '9 ¾' in miniscule handwriting. The other three crowded in to squint at it, Petunia and Vernon bashing their heads together.

'Ow! Ah...yes, well, I suppose you're right,' Vernon mumbled, clearly reluctant to offer his nephew any sort of praise at all.

'What's the matter, popkin?' Petunia asked Dudley, massaging her temple, for Dudley was suddenly looking crestfallen.

'Why didn't I see that?'

'Huh?' Vernon stared at him. 'What's up, son?'

Dudley pointed at the ticket in Harry's hand. 'I should have seen what it says on the ticket! I didn't look properly! However will I cope at witches' school if I miss something as easy as that?'

'I wouldn't worry about it, son,' said Vernon, 'you just have to – COME BACK HERE, BOY!'

Harry was running at full pelt towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He could hear Dudley and Vernon chasing him, but knew they would not catch up... Harry was shorter than both of them, but he was very fast... in a moment he would be safe from the Dursleys and on his way to the place where he knew he belonged...

The barrier dashed towards him as if to greet an old friend; the red bricks looked very solid to Harry...then they were gone, and he was wrapped in darkness...

The darkness passed. He had made it; the scarlet Hogwarts Express belched steam over the heads of students and their families as they gradually bid farewell and boarded. Harry looked around at all the faces, some happy, some sad, and at the mewing cats and hooting owls in their cages, and felt relieved. He really was free...

A fat, clumsy hand fell on his shoulder.

'Gotcha!'

Harry whirled around and stared with horror into his cousin's piggy eyes. Dudley was panting; beads of perspiration were marching down his forehead, making the lipstick scar run.

'You made it onto the platform!' Harry gasped. 'How?'

The greedy, cruel glint in Dudley's eyes wavered momentarily. 'I copied you,' he said.

**A/N: This is a deliberately* short chapter in order to make way for ****a LONG 'un, **Chapter 6, which is already in progress. Please leave a review and thanks for sticking with me - and Dudley!

* I actually ran out of stuff to write.


	7. 6 During the Journey

6. _During the Journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry via the Hogwarts Express from Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King's Cross Station in London_

The conductor stood by the head of the train and directed his wand at his throat. '_Sonorus_,' he said – now his voice boomed magically into the furthest corners of the platform. 'Attention – the Hogwarts Express leaves for Hogwarts School in five minutes.'

'Excuse me?' said the black-haired boy in front of him. 'Do I have enough time to get my luggage?'

'That's down to you, lad.'

Harry sprinted away from the man and back through the barrier into the Muggle world. He dashed past Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, the latter lying flat on his back with his eyes closed, being tended by a paramedic. Harry wondered briefly how many times Uncle Vernon had tried to run through the barrier before knocking himself out cold. He carried on, tearing past unsuspecting and suspecting crowds, ripped through the main doors, hurtled across the road and into the station car park.

Having forgotten to obtain the keys, Harry wrenched open the boot of Vernon's car, hearing a loud _phtank!_ noise as the metal lock broke. He seized the things he had secretly bought from Diagonally owing to a plot hole (probably one of many) in this story. The things included his trunk, broomstick and owl cage (he had forgotten to purchase an owl).

He somehow managed to run back into the station carrying his luggage in his arms. Aunt Petunia was attempting to flirt with the paramedic. Uncle Vernon had _sort of_ revived; he was conscious, but pale and very twitchy. He sat cross-legged on the floor, totally ignored by the other two. As he watched Harry rush by he growled, 'See you at the end of the story.'

Harry ignored him and ran through the magical barrier. There was still a lot of commotion, and not all of the children had yet boarded the train. Harry slowed to a trot and made his way to one of the carriages. He found a compartment that was mercifully empty.

Dudley had managed to get a compartment to himself, too. He leant back in his seat and closed his eyes, glorying in his own triumph and wondering where his puny little cousin had got to since the ending of the previous chapter.

His moment of peace didn't last very long though; the compartment door slid open and some ginger kid with a dirty nose poked his head in.

'Do you mind? Everywhere else is -'

'F*** off, mate.'

The boy retreated, looking extremely offended, and Dudley returned to his thoughts, looking smug.

Meanwhile, Harry was trying to settle in his own seat, but his thoughts were driving him crazy. How had Dudley – a Muggle – managed to get onto the platform? Was Dudley maybe not a Muggle? Was he actually a Muggle-born wizard (or witch)? And just why on earth was he pretending to be Harry, if he was magical as well as Harry anyway? Did the author even know the answers to these questions yet?

A rumbling vibration travelled through the seat beneath him, disturbing his musings; the train was preparing to depart. Harry was glad, because he had noticed that a lot of the people on the platform were clearly talking about and pointing at him. He supposed it was because (as Hagrid had yelled at him from the garden path while taking Dudley to Diagonally) as a baby he had seemingly destroyed Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard of all time when a curse intended to kill Harry - a curse Voldemort had used successfully on Harry's parents moments before - had failed, making Harry famous.

The train gathered speed and Platform Nine and Three Quarters slipped past and out of sight. Harry was glad that the annoyance caused by the pointing/talking people was gone and he was now able to concentrate on the annoyance caused by his cousin instead. But just then, a boy with dirt on his nose and ginger hair on his head slid the compartment door open and gazed in at Harry. He looked desperate and a little mad.

'Do youmind? Everywhere else is full!'

'Not at all,' said Harry cheerily, and then hated himself for saying it like that. The boy darted into the compartment, forcefully ripping the door closed behind him, and then dove onto one of the seats opposite Harry. Harry stared at him. 'Are you alright?'

'Oh - I suppose,' said the boy, though he didn't sound it. He was fidgeting and he kept glancing towards the door as though expecting to see a zombie clawing at the glass on the other side. 'It's just that... this boy further up the train... _really _horrible...'

'Was he fat?' asked Harry, wondering whether he knew who the boy was talking about. 'Did he insult you for no reason?'

'Yeah!' said the boy, relieved at Harry's acknowledgement. 'Fat - and ugly!'

'That's my cousin.'

The silence that greeted this was absolutely horrible but funny at the same time. For a moment, the boy said nothing, and Harry saw his ears turn pink. Then he grumbled, 'Oh - right. Sorry.'

Harry laughed. 'Don't say sorry, he's an absolute -'

The train rushed on and twisted through green countryside whilst the white afternoon sun blared down. Harry and the boy - whose name, Harry came to discover, was actually Ron - had an extremely enjoyable time talking about themselves and sharing experiences. Ron's whole family were witches and wizards, which Harry found fascinating, though he remembered having read it all in the book. A girl came looking for a toad about an hour later, and then an evil-looking trio turned up randomly, the leader of whom had white-blond hair.

He opened his mouth to speak, then froze under the cold looks from Harry and Ron. 'Yes?' Harry said.

'I -' the stranger stuttered, 'I'm Draco Malfoy... but I can't remember what conversation I'm meant to have with you.' He turned to his cronies, but they were of no use whatsoever; one was gazing blankly out of the window and the other appeared to be trying to swat a fly with his tongue. At length, the boy called Malfoy withdrew, looking rather embarrassed, and the idiots followed.

Malfoy stormed away up the train, one hand groping in his robes for his copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. He was angry at himself, and at his idiots Crabbe and Goyle. Then again, he thought, barging violently past a third-year girl, they _were_ idiots after all. He was ignoring them and they were strugging to keep up with him, despite their being so huge.

Then he happened to glance in at a compartment he was passing. The sole occupant, Malfoy noted, looked a little like Crabbe and Goyle; fat, ugly, and fiendishly mean. Even as Malfoy looked, the boy's face cracked into a malevolent sneer; he was clearly imagining or remembering having done something very horrible to someone. Malfoy's mind went into overdrive. Was it worth talking to this individual, befriending him? He made his mind up in a instant.

'Hi! I'm Draco Malfoy - who are you?' said the blond-haired boy as he strode confidently into the compartment.

Dudley squealed in surprise, but quickly turned it into a very deep cough.

'My name's Dudley Dursley - I'm Harry Potter's cousin!'

'Oh,' said Malfoy, his face falling slightly. He turned to leave.

'But I hate him!'

Malfoy turned back and stared at Dudley. 'That's... interesting.'

**A/N: AAAAARGHHHH! Exciting things are happening! Please REVIEW! :)**


	8. 7 Hair Dryers and Suicide

7. _Hair Dryers and Suicide_

'Are you _sure _you haven't seen a toad?' the bushy-haired girl asked, bursting randomly into the room while Harry and Ron were exchanging Chocolate Frog cards.

'We've already told you we haven't,' Harry said patiently.

'Yeah – go and pester someone else!' Ron snapped.

She turned and fled the compartment in _literal _floods of tears. They splattered the glass windows and drenched the seats; within moments, water was sloshing around their ankles.

'Eurgh!' said Ron, bringing his feet up with a splash, to rest them on the seat beside him. 'Crikey! Well, that was random,' he added to Harry.

'Yeah,' said Harry, privately wondering where the sought-after toad was, and whether it was okay. He looked down at the card he was holding, which had a picture and some biographical information on Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry looked at the text, and the name Nicolas Flamel jumped out at him; he looked up at Ron to ask whether he thought Flamel would have any bearing on whatever they might face at Hogwarts this year, when the compartment door opened yet again.

It was the girl with the bushy hair. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were a little bloodshot. In her arms she held an array of electrical hair dryers.

'I apologise for that,' she said, indicating all the water that she had previously cried onto everything. 'I've come back to dry it all off, with these.' She held up the dryers.

'Why don't you use your wand?' Harry asked her.

'Because it doesn't make a very good hair dryer,' explained the girl, 'I've already tried.'

'Well, it's not necessary anyway,' said Ron hurriedly. 'Everything's suddenly dry now.'

And so it was.

The three of them looked at each other, and spoke at exactly the same time.

'I'm Ron Weasley.'

'I'm Hermione Granger.'

'I'm Harry Potter.'

'_What?_' Hermione gasped, staring at Ron. 'You're _the _Harry Potter?'

'I said that, I'm Harry!' Harry snarled, very angrily; he had not forgotten Hagrid and Dudley in the hut.

'Oh, sorry,' said Hermione, blushing. 'It was confusing, when we all spoke at the same time.'

'Don't worry.' Harry was feeling a little uncomfortable, because Hermione looked extremely anxious. Mainly to change the subject and lighten the mood, he said, 'Want to see my scar?'

'Sure!' Ron and Hermione said.

Harry obligingly lifted his fringe. The other two stared at the lightning-shaped cut.

'Wow,' whispered Hermione. 'So that's from the curse by... by He To Whose Name We Cannot Refer?'

'Yeah, Voldemort.'

_'Don't say his name_,' Ron hissed. 'Say "You-Know-Who" or "You-Know-Whom", depending on whether or not he's the subject of the sentence. Or call him "the Dark Lord", or "Tom Riddle" or "He To Whose Name We Cannot Refer". Or "Mr V".'

'Er - right,' said Harry.

When Hermione was previously dashing out of the compartment in floods of tears which soaked everything, Draco Malfoy was in another compartment, trying to have an intelligent conversation with Dudley.

'Let me try and understand this,' said Malfoy, leaning forwards in his seat and knotting the fingers of his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs, 'your name is Dudley Dursley, right?'

'Right.'

'You're Harry Potter's cousin, right?'

'Right.'

'And you hate him, right?'

'Right,' said Dudley nervously.

Malfoy looked the boy up and down, from the ridiculous black toupee, to the bright, lipstick-drawn scar, to the tight jacket and tight jeans. 'So why the _hell_,' said Malfoy, 'are you dressed up as him?'

Dudley stayed mostly silent, though he muttered under his breath. Malfoy thought he heard the words "the author" and "a silly story". Malfoy shook his head irritably, trying and failing to make sense of Dudley. Just then, however, they heard a rattling of wheels, and turned to see an old lady pushing a trolley of brightly-coloured sweets outside the compartment door.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' she trilled, and was promptly bowled over by Dudley in his haste to get at the trolley.

Back in the cool people's compartment again, Harry glanced down at the card in his hand.

'I've got Dumbledore!' he gasped, as if he'd only just realised, and looked up at Ron. Ron didn't reply so he looked back down again.

'Hey, he's... still there.'

'Well,' said Ron, 'you can't expect him to _happen_ to disappear the second you look away, can you?'

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' said the old woman behind Hermione, making her jump and drop the hair dryers.

Harry looked past Hermione at the trolley to which he presumed the old woman was referring, but it appeared devoid of anything to buy. He gently pointed this out to her.

The old woman stared in horror at the trolley, and then glanced back down the way she had come, in the direction of Dudley's compartment. 'That child's gone and bankrupted me!' she wailed. Then she pulled a wand out of one her blouse sleeves and performed _Avada Kedavra _on herself. There was a blinding flash of green light, a rushing sound, then the old woman thudded to the floor. She was dead.

'Er - what happens now?' asked Harry.

'What do you mean, what happens now?' replied Hermione, as the train rumbled to a halt. 'We get off the train... we're at Hogwarts!'

**A/N: Review, PLEASE! Also - tell me what house you think Dudley belongs in!**


	9. 8 The Categorizing Headwear

8. _The Categorizing Headwear_

The boats drifted across the huge black lake. The children stared in wonder and awe as they approached the castle of Hogwarts, its many turrets and towers silhouetted against the dark night. Lights glinted from the windows like so many fireflies.

'Looks cool,' muttered Ron, who was sharing a boat with Harry and Hermione.

'Yeah,' agreed Hagrid the giant, from his own boat which was a few feet away and ahead of theirs. Hagrid had greeted the first-years at Hogsmeade station, and led them to the boats. It was apparently tradition that the youngest students travel across a miles-deep lake in little boats at night-time to get to the school.

Dudley had got into a boat with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, but the latter two were the ones rowing. Dudley and Malfoy grinned gleefully at each other while Crabbe and Goyle puffed and pulled.

Soon after, the boats gently coasted the pebbly shore on the other side. The children alighted, shivering in the intimidating shadow of the castle. Hermione called out loudly, '_Hasn't anybody seen a toad? A boy named Neville -,'_

'Hermione, I found Trevor forty-five minutes ago!' said round-faced Neville, pulling the toad out of his cloak for her to see. 'Will you just shut up, please?'

'Yeah, it's getting a bit old,' chimed in a heavily Irish-accented boy with sandy hair.

'So's your face,' Hermione retorted.

The boy, who Harry would later discover was called Seamus Finnegan, went red and opened his mouth furiously, but Hagrid spoke before he could get a word out, 'Right, then, enough's enough! Come on, let's get yeh up t' the school…'

Roughly three minutes and seventeen seconds later, having followed the winding path through the trees from the shore up to the castle itself, the first-years rushed up the stone steps and stopped before the great oak front door. Hagrid, having somehow gotten hold of his magical flying motorbike at some point, landed in front of them with a tremendous crash which made the castle tremble. The door in front of them opened and there stood a tall, strict looking witch with black hair in a tight bun beneath her witches' hat. She stared around at them all for a moment, before starting, as if surprised. 'Oh! Er...hi! Welcome to Hogwarts...thing.'

Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows at each other. Nobody said anything for a moment. Hagrid, still mounted on his gargantuan aeronautical motorized bicycle, seemed to be waiting politely for the witch to say something else. Eventually she did, addressing the nervous first-years.

'Er - take a look around, go where you want, meet back here in twenty minutes, and I'll tell you where in the school grounds is forbidden and deduct any points from the houses you're not yet sorted into, for having gone in those forbidden places.'

'Maybe they should be Sorted now, Professor McGonagall,' said Hagrid loudly.

Professor McGonagall looked for a moment as though she was going to scream. However, her voice very calm, she looked at Hagrid and said, 'Oh, very well, Hagrid, we'll play it your way... yes, yes, let us have them Sorted first...'

Her voice trailed away, and then she did. She had turned around and was drifting down a cavernous hallway before the children realised they had to follow her. 'A little erratic, isn't she?' Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as they hurried over the threshold into the hallway.

'Yeah, they've _totally_ got her character wrong,' said Ron.

They all stopped in front of another set of huge doors. Professor McGonagall stood in front of them and looked at the children. 'In a moment, you shall walk through these doors, like so -,' she mimed walking, '- and join your classmates.' She then mimed sitting down. 'Before that, however, you must be Sorted, or Categorized, into your houses. There are four,' she held up four fingers. 'Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They're all rather awesome. Be good, and you'll earn house points. Be naughty, and you shall lose them. Any questions?'

But she didn't wait for anyone to ask questions; instead, she turned around and threw open the doors. Hundreds of students sat at the four house tables spanning the room, and there was a fifth table at the top of the room, where the teachers sat. Harry recognised Dumbledore's beard.

The first-years entered the Great Hall and proceeded to the Top Table. Harry felt very nervous; he looked around for Professor McGonagall, but couldn't see her. Then a door opened behind the teachers' table and McGonagall entered, carrying a spindly stool and a very old, patched and frayed wizards' hat.

McGonagall pirouetted around the table and placed the stool on the ground directly in front of Dumbledore, who sat at the centre of the table. Then she dropped the hat on top of the stool, hiding Dumbledore completely from view. Tutting irritably, Dumbledore leaned sideways so that he could be seen from behind the hat.

Professor McGonagall, her job done, faced the room at large, and bowed. There was no applause at all. Looking embarrassed, McGonagall hurried around the table and resumed her seat beside Dumbledore's. She cleared her throat and read out from a piece of parchment in front of her: 'When I call your name, sit on the stool and put on the Categorizing Headware' ('she means "Sorting Hat",' Hermione whispered to Ron and Harry), 'which will tell you in which house you belong.'

She opened another scroll of parchment, and looked down at it.

'ABBOTT, HANNAH!' Professor McGonagall screamed.

A small blonde-haired girl rushed forwards, donned the Hat and sat upon the stool.

'_Hufflepuff_!' cried the Hat. Hannah removed it from her head and rushed over to sit at the Hufflepuff table whilst everyone clapped.

It took just under four minutes and eleven and a half seconds to get through everyone. Harry, Ron and Hermione had got into Gryffindor, along with Trevor-owner Neville and Irish Seamus. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were Slytherins. Finally, Professor McGonagall screeched, 'DURSLEY, DUDLEY!'

Dudley walked forwards, barely feeling nervous. He looked around as he approached the stool, and saw Malfoy giving him a nod and a smile. Sure of his destiny, Dudley raised the Hat, and placed it on his head...

**A/N: So which house does Dudley belong in, do you think?**


End file.
